


Roles & Reflections

by Ceraphyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Dean Winchester, Depression, Even talking won't stop them from being idiots, Explicit scenes with other pairings, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Metafiction, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Poly thematics, Writer Castiel (Supernatural), basically all of the characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:06:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29658690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceraphyn/pseuds/Ceraphyn
Summary: Castiel is failing his classes, his parents and even his relationship. It's his gray reality, and he doesn't know how things got this bad. Looks like there's nothing Castiel can do to change that either. Well, nothing that doesn't include him having to address the biggest and scariest questions about himself.At least his best friend Dean is there for him, for better or for worse. But it remains to be seen if Dean can save Cas in every aspect, like he seems hellbent on doing.---Roles & Reflections is a story about finding yourself, and staying true to your identity amidst the pressures and randomness of life.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Roles & Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, you! Welcome to Roles & Reflections!
> 
> I'm so glad you're here, and I hope you stick with the story and enjoy it. I'm somewhat apprehensive about posting my first chapter now, since I originally intended to write everything and then post. But I'm a little over 4/12 chapters in and it's time. It'll do me good.
> 
> I'll post at a 3-4 week interval, just because I want to give myself time to continue the story and not have to immediately change the pace at which I publish. I want to avoid long breaks. :) 
> 
> \---  
>  **Please, read these notes before you begin!**
> 
> I started writing this fic as a kind of "getting to know and play with it" version of a story I've wanted to do for a long time- a fictitious retelling of my own experiences growing up (and a little further down the line). 
> 
> This story is in parts highly, highly personal. And because the sequence of events, certain personas and contexts have to remain true to what I've experienced, they might not be 100% what one would expect going into a trope filled fic. I have still done my best to honor the characters and let them steer the story as much as possible, and morph this into a sensible story. And rest assured, after the world has thrown everything at the boys, they will ultimately find a very satisfying ending.
> 
> This story revolves a lot around issues I'm sure many here have encountered such as depression, coming out as queer, living with undiagnosed ADHD/ADD and such. These are subjective experiences for everyone, and if you comment about these on this fic, please do so in a way that doesn't disparage someone else's experiences. 
> 
> I'm from Northern Europe, and our society works in parts differently from the U.S. In contexts such as school, health care etc where practices differ, I have tried to do sufficient research and find a way to retell events that took place here in a way that doesn't feel too off when set in the U.S. If I can do that better, please kindly let me know.
> 
> Additionally, this is the first story I've written to be published anywhere like this, and it's not in my first language. I "beta myself" for now, and I do my best to go through my text as much as possible. Please do point out if there's a recurring or major issue, if you do so constructively. :)
> 
> ... and uh yeah, I tend to write long ass chapters. Sorry. Also all art is by me.

###  **Foreword**

At different points of our lives we all find ourselves on the precipice of something. A transition, a discovery, the end or the beginning of an era. The prospect of stepping over is as exhilarating as it is frightening, like taking a trust fall. We prepare to leave behind a certain normalcy, and open ourselves up to change that we can’t fully comprehend yet. That is if we’ve taken those falls before.

For someone who hasn’t taken those falls, separating from normalcy can be purely terrifying. Somewhere below is the new normal and all there is to do is to let go. But no matter how much good may be ahead-- if we don't know how to look for it-- we can get lost, end up suspended mid fall, floating in a void and hoping to be tethered back to something solid. 

It’ll feel easier to grab a rope and climb back onto that cliff, the safe bedrock. What’s vastly more intimidating, is allowing someone to pull you down until your feet touch solid ground, and you can learn to walk again.

I have stood on many a precipice, fallen over numerous cliffs, and landed every which way. But the most important thing that ever happened to me, was the time I found myself suspended mid fall and lost in a void.

I dedicate this book to everyone who’s paths crossed mine during that transformative time in Harbor Creek. It has taken me years to regain my love for it’s old buildings, riverfront, windswept parks, ancient trees and the smell of salty sea breeze. But I have walked far enough now to find the good in all that happened, and everyone who pushed me closer to the greatest fall of my life.

I dedicate this book to our angel Anna, who drew me over the edge. 

And most of all I devote this work to Dean, without whom I never would have flown again.

Castiel Novak  
Seattle  
11/05/2020

## Chapter 1 - Ordinary World

**Harbor Creek, WA** **  
** **February 3rd, 2005**

We meet our hero bent over a notebook in deep concentration, his pen hurrying down the pages. Words seem to fly off its tip uninterrupted. There’s an aura of inspiration about him, like he’s tapped into the vein of something and the contents are spilling over, barely formulating fast enough to be caught.

It is, in fact, exactly the state he is in. Ever so often Castiel finds himself hooking onto an idea, with absolutely no way of working it out of his system other than immediately releasing it onto paper. This time is no different, and as always it matters little what he is supposed to be doing, when an urgency to capture the moment overrides his other senses.

His mind is filled with the heat of battle, monsters clawing at his protagonists, and angelic beings descending to the rescue. The battle is won and the protagonist recognizes the saviour. He captures the intensity in their exchange, the way their breaths catch and eyes lock, an unresolved undercurrent of heat sizzling in the air. Castiel can almost feel it as he writes, because, granted, he’s not unfamiliar with the experience.

_“Was about time,” Dean huffed, took the arm and let himself be pulled up._ _  
_ _The momentum caused him to trip over a dead body at his feet, and he ended up bracing himself against a strong, solid chest.  
He felt the angel gasp as he glanced down, lips close enough to Dean’s cheek to-- _

“Novak. Novak!”

Castiel startles and quickly hides his notebook beneath the heap of papers piled on his desk. He scrambles to sit upright and looks around him to find the rest of the class staring at him expectantly. Professor Ellen Harvelle taps her foot impatiently and leans on one hip.

“Unless you’re busy transcribing Mr. Tran’s presentation, I suggest you turn your undivided attention to it now,” she tells him sternly, and narrows her eyes in a way that promises no leniency, “should you wish to be his opponent and pass this class.”

Castiel swallows and turns his eyes to Kevin, who mirrors Mrs. Harvelle’s frustration.

“I- I’m sorry, Kevin,” he stammers and looks down. There’s an opponent’s form somewhere amidst the papers he rifles through, and he can practically hear Kevin roll his eyes. Form found and pen at the ready, he straightens up once again and tries his best to seem present. “Please, continue,” he says, smiling apologetically. 

Kevin sighs but his lips quirk up in an amused smile. They’re alright.

“Okay, as I was saying. The merits of exploring green solutions for maritime industries--”

Oh hell. Now he remembers why he zoned out to begin with. Castiel gathers all his wit and concentration, and tries his best to understand Kevin’s words and-- even more challengingly-- form any opinions of his own on the subject. This is going to be a long and embarrassing hour.

  
  


\---

Castiel strides down the hall in a huff. “You’re a genius at this type of thing, and I’m not. What the hell was I supposed to come up with, huh? I can’t oppose someone of your level,” he proclaims and flails his arms in frustration.

“How would you know? You spend all your time in Never Never Land instead of, I don’t know, paying attention!” Kevin retorts as he catches up with him. “You know, you used to be just as good as me, even last year.”

Castiel shrugs dismissively as he answers. “Guess I wasn’t good enough to keep up.”

They turn a corner and enter the grand lobby of Duke John’s High School. It’s a bright, open one story space, divided into three slightly separate wings that each branch out into hallways. The north wing hosts the cafeteria and a row of spaces with extracurricular functions, one of those being The Bunker, the student association’s space that’s designated for Seniors only. Castiel makes a beeline for it, not checking if Kevin is still following behind.

The Bunker is a combination of break room, library and even occasionally a cafe, whenever there’s a bake sale for whatever the association is trying to fund. Since Duke John’s is a drama and arts oriented institution, most of those sales tend to fund plays, concerts or exhibitions. Sometimes even the occasional sporting event makes the list, they are a high school after all, complete with jocks and sporting teams. Although they don’t reach the competitive level of other local schools.

Milling around the hallways of Duke John’s is a mixed crowd of teenagers. Some are local, among them the jocks and most average students, and others have moved from further away for it’s highly acclaimed arts and drama education. 

The hippie types in their dreadlocks and tie dyed everything blend seamlessly with the artsy types, the pretentious kids in berets and tattered tweed, and the ones in ripped jeans, patched shoulder bags and velvet blazers. Castiel falls into the latter category these days, as do most of his friends.

He pushes through the masses, all wandering towards the cafeteria, and past the beaded curtain at The Bunker’s entrance.

“Yo, Cas! Get your ass over here!"

It’s Dean, hollering at him from where he’s spread in his designated corner of a huge burgundy couch. Charlie waves at him from one of the bean bags laying in front of it. The couch and bean bags may be tattered and smelly, and no one wants to know what all those stains are, but over the course of the past several months, this corner has become a weird extension of home. It’s where Cas and his clan gather whenever they can, and accusing them of being territorial about it would be accurate.

He approaches their little nook with a wide smile on his face, and plops down onto his cushion next to Dean.

“So get this,” Dean says excitedly as Cas settles down. "I came up with the greatest idea ever." 

Castiel chuckles as he leans back. He’s heard this opening line countless times, and it’s never been in precedence of an actual great idea.

“Yeah, sure,” he chortles, “Like when you insisted we dress up in Hogwarts costumes for the Youth Ministry's gathering, and ended up earning us lectures from Reverend Adler for, quote, imparting Satanic influences on impressionable kids?”

“It was kinda awesome, Cas, and you know it,” Dean points out proudly.

It really had been something. Among other things it has made Castiel want to dress in a cape for church every week since, just to spite them for their ridiculousness. He shrugs his acquiescence, and they burst out laughing. 

“No but listen,” Charlie pipes up as she’s calmed her breath, “I think this really might be his greatest idea ever.”

“I believe it when I hear it.”

Dean smiles secretively. “I want to draw a long form comic.”

Pretty sure he didn’t get the entire picture yet, Cas frowns. This is hardly anything unexpected. Dean is easily one of the most promising young artists of Duke John’s, and his forte is pop art, comics in particular, a craft he’s been perfecting for years.

“Sure, I mean that’s what we expected. Where’s the beef?” Cas answers, cocking an eyebrow. Dean’s grin widens at that.

“I want you-” he pokes Cas’ chest, “to write it.”

Castiel searches Dean’s eyes and slowly breaks out in a big smile. He’s beaming back at Dean, who practically vibrates as he urges, “I know, right?”

Cas doesn’t have to answer. Instead they hoot, fist bump, and so it is settled. They would become co-authors. It’s such a natural thing it doesn’t feel like a big deal at all. There isn’t a doubt in Castiel’s bones that they’ll follow through with this plan, which immediately forms into a priority.

Cas sighs contentedly as he buries deeper into the worn cushions, and lets his shoulder graze Dean’s side. Absently, Dean allows his arm to fall over his shoulder and casually forgets it there.

The beaded curtains swing aside with their telltale clatter and Kevin hurries through, flustered. He flops onto the unoccupied bean bag next to Charlie and drops his backpack between them. 

“Dean, if Cas agreed to be your writer, I’d seriously reconsider enlisting him,” he deadpans and proceeds to dig out a form from his bag. “Just listen to what this regular Shakespeare wrote in his opposition to my work today.”

Cas groans and throws an arm over his face as Kevin clears his throat and proceeds to read out loud.

“Mr. Tran has good ideas. Maritime industry pollutes. Green solutions reduce pollution. If fish get killed the ecosystem will suffer. Suffering leads to fear. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to the Dark Side. Be like Jedi Master Tran so we don’t need to fear the Sith Fish.”

Kevin lowers the form and gives Castiel his most impressive rendition of the famous Disappointed Asian Mother Glare, a staple he usually reserves for imitating the fearsome Mrs. Tran. Dean and Charlie don’t even attempt to play cool, but instead dissolve into fits of laughter.

“Hey! I made my case much more elaborately in my spoken feedback,” Cas complains in faked annoyance and shoves Dean’s side. Kevin snorts and Cas kicks his bean bag.

“No, no,” Dean gasps for air as he tries to compose himself, “this is _exactly_ why I enlisted Cas as my writer.”

“I need Sith Fish printed on a t-shirt," Charlie says and wipes tears of laughter from her eyes, but then addresses Cas more seriously. "There’s no way you passed the assignment with that crap though. Did Ellen let you have it?”

“Nah, I’m a lost cause and she knows it,” Cas answers happily, but his smile falters as he feels the carelessness of the previous moments slip away. He catches Dean frowning before he’s able to school those overly expressive eyes.

“What? I’ll just write an essay to make up for it,” he says defiantly and slides even further down into the couch, until his head is practically leaning against Dean’s thigh. “ ‘s no big deal,” he mumbles and shrugs. Dean pats Cas' arm in sympathy and once again fails to retract his hand, letting it rest against the worn velvet instead.

Abruptly, a voice shakes them out of contemplation.

“Hey, Cas, I thought we were meeting at the cafeteria after class!” 

They jump in surprise, and Dean pulls his hand back quickly as Hannah emerges behind Charlie and Kevin.

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” Cas mumbles as he pushes off the couch. “I got sucked into an interesting conversation with Kevin and forgot.”

Kevin snorts loudly. Cas kicks his bean bag again for good measure as he stands up, and moves over to Hannah to place a kiss on her cheek. 

“That’s okay,” she says happily and drapes an arm around Castiel’s waist. “What are you guys up to?”

Before he has a chance to comment, Charlie announces excitedly, “Dean and Cas are starting a long form comic project together!” 

Hannah’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and she studies them both sternly, before settling narrowed eyes on Cas. “Really? I thought you were neck deep in late assignments.”

He sighs in resignation. It’s moments like this that make Castiel acutely aware of the rift between Hannah and the rest of his life. 

Cas has known her from when they were kids, since their families were a tight bunch. It was the Novaks, Johnsons and Miltons. Hannah Johnson and Hester Milton are best friends, Cas is both their friend, and back in the day their troupe was frequently completed by Hannah’s little brother Inias and Hester’s little sister Anna.

Cas still can’t explain how it happened, but at some point after the three of them began high school together, he realized people expected him to start dating Hannah. It took him a long time to feel any urge to date at all, but eventually he caved under the pressure, and asked her out. They’ve gone steady for several months now, during which it’s become painfully obvious that Hannah doesn’t fit Castiel’s life like she used to.

Cas swallows down his frustrations and tries to smile reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I’ve got my priorities sorted,” he says gently, but can’t resist shooting Dean a defiant, meaningful look. 

Dean smiles slyly and winks, then clears his throat as he stands up. “Yeah, we both do, Hannah. You worry way too much,” he says and claps Hannah’s shoulder. “Come on. We should all probably head to the cafeteria. It’s Friday, and you know that means pizza.”

**Harbor Creek, WA** **  
** **February 6th, 2005**

“We’re not actually writing essays for History class, right?” Cas blurts by way of greeting and steps aside to let Dean in. His basement room has its own entrance, which Dean has made a habit of using instead of the front door, since he’s coming and going at obscene hours half the time.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dean answers as he enters, kicks his boots off and casually flops onto Castiel’s queen size bed. “I just got the feeling Hannah wouldn’t take it too well if I outright told her I planned to pick your brain about our project.”

That was an understatement. Hannah would’ve considered it a betrayal of trust. “You’re probably right,” Cas laughs dryly.

Dean leans against propped elbows and regards him curiously. “So. How’d it go on Saturday, then?”

It was a loaded question. Saturday had been date night, and a pretty significant one at that. After months of going steady it was heavily implied what that entitled. Hannah hyped it up for weeks, trying to perfect it in every aspect, while Cas tried his best not to become overwhelmed by the pressures and expectations she built up. 

“It was fine, I guess,” Cas settles with replying. He tries to appear nonchalant as he sits down on one of his huge floor cushions, and avoids Dean’s expectant stare.

“You guess, huh,” Dean says flatly when there’s no elaboration on the matter. “But you guys did do it, right? You lost your v-card?”

Dean lets his backpack fall on the bed and slides down on the floor in front of Cas, whose cheeks are heating up. 

“I did,” he finally admits. Dean whoops and raises his hand for a high-five, which Cas answers with an exasperated sigh, lazily slapping their palms together.

“You don’t seem too excited by that,” Dean observes and turns more serious. Losing your virginity is apparently something most guys are enthusiastic about, but Cas just feels like he’s completed a chore, and isn’t even that happy with the outcome.

He frowns. “I don’t know. I thought I’d feel more while, you know, doing it. And after. But I just functioned, and I didn’t feel anything. Some physical release, sure, that stuff was nice. But I thought it would’ve been-”

“More satisfying?” Dean interjects. 

Cas contemplates and nods. “Yeah, I guess so.”

They sit in silence then, one that Cas thinks of as an unspoken conversation. They have them every now and again, when they both know what the other is feeling and neither of them wants to put it into words. Actually they do this almost every time they approach the subject of emotions, and it’s almost masterful how much they are able to fit into these silences.

“Hey, you know it’s not the end of the world if Hannah isn’t it for you? I’m not sure anyone’s supposed to meet _the one_ at our age,” Dean finally says.

Cas leans in, elbows to his knees and props his chin on his hands. “But it just doesn’t seem fair. She’s done nothing wrong. She’s perfectly good,” he says sullenly. 

“Maybe perfectly good isn’t what you need,” answers Dean, and pats his arm gently. Cas leans into it minutely and smiles that very private smile they sometimes share.

“You wanna hear about this story I’ve been working on?” he teases Dean, both to steer the conversation back to safe waters, but also because this is something he’s been looking forward to all weekend.

Dean’s wide smile lights up his moss green eyes and god, if Cas doesn’t sometimes wonder what it would be like to spend his time just writing and making those eyes shine. 

“Hell yeah,” Dean exclaims, “show me what you got!”

Cas doesn’t have to be told twice, but it’s with some trepidation that he goes to dig through the notebooks that are piled high on his desk. He hasn’t mentioned his pet project to Dean before, and for a very good reason. The main characters are unabashedly based on the Winchesters, Dean and his brother Sam, and there’s just something intimidating about admitting to writing stories about them for months.

Initially Cas wasn’t sure what he would do with the stories. He didn’t think they’d amount to anything, but would remain a private experiment into the worlds of horror, legends and lore. They were inconsistent and riddled with scenes he’d written purely for his own enjoyment. But after Friday, when Dean asked him for a story to draw, these were the first and only ones that popped into Castiel’s mind.

He digs out one of the notebooks from a few months ago, when he first came up with the monster hunting brothers, and hesitantly hands it over to Dean.

“It’s something I’ve been writing for a while. I wasn’t going to use it for anything, but then I thought the story could make a great comic,” he explains as he watches Dean open the worn cover. The first pages are covered in quick notes, symbols and references. Cas leans in and leafs through a few of those to land on the spread that details the main characters.

“Dean? And Sam?” Dean asks and turns to Cas, frowning.

“I, uh, I based the main characters on you two,” he answers.

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up and he asks incredulously, “But why?” 

Cas shrugs. “I guess I kind of envy you for your bond. And the main characters really need a bond like that for the story to work,” he answers seriously, then smiles. “That, and I made the brothers drive an Impala. It would’ve felt wrong to give Baby to someone else.”

“Damn right,” Dean laughs. He really loves that car. “So, what you got us doing in this story, sell lemonade out of our trunk?”

“Idjit,” huffs Cas and rolls his eyes. “You hunt monsters. See? Here’s a couple of loglines for the story.” He turns the page and points to a list of short descriptions. Dean mm-hmm’s and turns his focus entirely on the pages, and proceeds to read through them in concentration.

Not sure how to deal with himself while Dean peruses through his unfiltered notes, Cas lays down on the floor and studies the ceiling. The paint has cracks. So many cracks. He counts them to distract himself from Dean’s occasional humms of approval and remarks like “huh” or “interesting”. Finally Dean lowers the notebook and stares at him with a whole new kind of intensity.

“Cas, this is…”

“It’s just a first draft, and we can change the names- I mean it is kind of creepy to-”

Dean sighs. “Oh will you shut up." He covers Cas’ mouth with his palm and leans over to hover above him, and with complete sincerity tells him, “It’s fucking amazing, Cas. It’s awesome, and I’d be honored to be your artist."

Cas deflates with relief. “So you’re not disturbed by it?”

“What? No! If this is how you see me, then fuck me, I’m awesome,” Dean grins as he extends an arm to help Cas sit up. “We might need to change the names if we publish something, but I’m fine working with the original stuff for now.”

“Yeah, absolutely. I never thought I’d need to, so I haven’t. But it’s not a problem to do it later,” Cas ponders and nods haltingly, prolonging the stare they’re sharing, then continues abruptly. “Oh, hey! I’ve got a shit ton of stuff I’ve written about the world. I based it on existing mythologies and urban legends. And I might have raided your Uncle Bobby’s library for some source material.”

Bobby was a friend of Dean’s family and strictly speaking Cas didn’t know him all that well. But he had visited the old man’s eccentric junk yard slash epic library a few times, and found he couldn’t resist an opportunity to look up some stuff in those books. Bobby had been amused but gracious about it.

“I was wondering why you’d been over there,” says Dean in amusement. “Okay, lay it on me. I’ve got nowhere to be tonight and I really wanna get started on this as soon as I can.”

\---

It’s late. Dean left a few hours ago and Cas shouldn’t be awake if he wanted to have any wits about him at school tomorrow, but sleep just doesn’t come to him. 

He keeps falling into these senseless thought loops more and more. Sometimes he ends up writing until he passes out, other times he feels completely paralyzed, and can simply lie there until his mind finally shuts down. And while he waits, an endless succession of regrets, hopes, failures and what if’s parade through his consciousness.

This time it’s guilt. He’s been feeling a lot of that lately. Guilt over not doing his homework. Guilt over the countless ways he keeps letting his parents down. Guilt over failing to enjoy his first time with Hannah. Guilt over preferring to spend his time with Dean rather than his girlfriend.

Guilt over all the reasons why that is.

Cas knows this is not fair to Hannah, but she’s someone who’s been a part of his life for over half of it. He struggles to see a way out that doesn’t completely betray everything everyone around him expects and has been led to believe. There’s enough reasons for him to feel like a constant let down as is, and he’s got no aspiration to pile up on it.

What Dean said was true; it isn’t the end of the world if it doesn't work out with Hannah. But Cas is scared to let go for any reason that isn’t absolutely solid, or he’ll have to blame it on something vague and be subjected to questions he doesn’t know how to answer, or is scared to answer honestly.

His mind plays a never ending reel of hyperbolic outcomes and different ways these could play out. Every way seems to result in something unpleasant, and Cas curls into himself as anxiety settles in the pit of his stomach. It’s only when he manages to isolate the sound of a dripping faucet, that his mind gets distracted enough and he finally drifts off into restless sleep.

  
  
  


**Harbor Creek, WA  
** **March 4th, 2005**

It eventually takes Castiel nearly four weeks to decide that he and Hannah aren’t going to work out. The final straw came last night, as they were laying in her bed after some perfectly adequate sex. For all that it was lacking, Cas had actually felt rather good about it afterwards. It was less of a fumble and he managed to get a little more into it. Perhaps that was what prompted Hannah to bluntly propose oral sex soon after.

At that, Cas had freaked out and bolted. He isn’t exactly sure why, the general idea has always held appeal to him, but he is willing to bet it was mainly the fact that it was Hannah. Afterwards he stayed up all night thinking and regretting, not answering Hannah’s texts, until he reached a decision in the early morning hours. He had to end it the very next day.

The very next day turns out to be a bleak Friday, and the Pacific North-West reflects every bit of Castiel’s mood, as he trudges through flooding streets. Mud seeps up the legs of his jeans and the crappy patent leather coat does very little against the chilling coastal gusts. 

His steps slow as the imposing building comes into view. Duke John’s High School is situated on a small hilltop, just outside the busy Harbor Creek downtown district. It’s surrounded by a park, an old historical jail turned lofty apartment building, and properties filled with cafe’s, homes and cultural functions. It’s a nice, grungy but classy area downstream of the Plough River, which splits Harbor Creek through the middle. 

It’s hard to appreciate the nice surroundings in pouring rain and freezing winds, but even that holds more appeal than ascending the path that leads to the front doors.

The first alarm rings out, shrill and obnoxious. Cas stands there a while, mentally preparing himself for whatever awaits him inside. The plan is to avoid Hannah as much as possible, or stay civilly distant, until they can talk after school. Then Cas plans to take her to a nearby cafe and explain things calmly, although he hasn’t really figured out what to say.

“It’s not you, it’s me” seems offensive even while it’s the truth, and he already knows it’s not going to go over well. But by now Cas has endured all the awkwardness he can take, and getting out of this mess unscathed is the least of his worries. He shivers from the mere thought of enduring another day of pretending and waiting for something to spark.

Obviously Hannah has sensed at least some of the awkwardness over the last weeks, and another thing Cas is sick of, are her desperate attempts to please him at every turn. Perhaps Hannah thinks she’s failing him, or something equally untrue, that itself just makes the situation even worse.

All in all, it is high time to end this embarrassment. 

With resolve and a healthy amount of apprehension, Cas finally makes his way up, and just as the second alarm sounds, pushes himself through the doors and into the swarming morning crowd. 

It doesn’t take long for Hannah to spot and corner him by their lockers.

“Hey, babe,” she greets him and leans in to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Hi,” Cas squeezes out, his throat already tight with unease. “Listen, I-”

Hannah cuts him off by raising her hand. “No need to apologize. I’m really sorry I ruined the mood last night. I get that I was a little forward, and I’m sorry. We don’t have to take another step this soon, okay?” She smiles, looking ashamed and a little sad. 

Dammit, she shouldn’t be the one apologizing. Cas lets out a long sigh and presses his hands against his eyes.

“Okay. Okay. Good. Thank you,” he manages finally, and tries to smile reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it, okay? We can talk more after school.” 

“Alright,” Hannah nods, relaxing a little, but then seems to recall something. “Might have to wait until tomorrow though. We’ve got that party tonight, remember?”

No, Cas has flat out forgotten.

“No, yes, of course I remember. Hester’s family is out of town. The Milton’s place, at seven,” he says instead.

“Right. I was just talking with Charlie and the guys. They’ve made plans to meet up at Crowley’s after school and head on over together. I thought we could-”

“We’ll join them. Of course,” Cas agrees in relief. If Dean and the others are coming too, he’ll be fine. He can wait until tomorrow to break up in a decent manner, and not ruin a perfectly good evening.

“I gotta get to class. See you at lunch,” Hannah says and leans in for a quick kiss, which Cas answers on auto pilot, before walking off towards his class room. 

Fuck. How the hell did his plans just implode so completely?

\---

Professor Missouri Moseley is, by a comfortable margin, Castiel’s favorite teacher throughout his entire school career. Certainly his natural talents and love for the English language mean he would likely enjoy these classes the most regardless of who teaches them. But Mrs. Moseley has managed to make English the only subject Cas still attends readily and with excitement. 

Admittedly these days it has a lot to do with how much Mrs. Moseley cuts him slack. Cas easily keeps up with other students without any real effort at all, so it’s not like she’s watching him fall through. It’s rather like she’s figured out how Castiel ticks, and lets him follow the curriculum in whatever way he feels most comfortable with. If it means he zones out for an entire class and just focuses on his own writing, then so be it.

They have their own, private routine at the start of each lesson. Mrs. Moseley begins by clapping her hands and silencing the crowd, she then turns to Cas and gives him a measuring look. Cas nods whenever he feels like actively participating, and points at his notebook when he doesn’t. Missouri never breaks the agreement, and neither does Cas. The trust that Mrs. Moseley places in him has ensured he doesn’t fail to show up or ace an exam. 

Today Castiel is exceptionally grateful for their arrangement, as he barely has enough energy after the first period to show up at Missouri’s classroom at all. 

“You look even more tired than usual,” Crowley notes as Cas slumps exhaustedly into his usual spot. “Work late on those assignments last night?”

Cas huffs a laugh. “Not likely. Just didn’t sleep too well is all.”

Crowley isn’t one to turn in assignments on time, or at all, but even he looks impressed. “You really are adamant on failing your Senior year, aren’t you.”

“I’m just redirecting my efforts to something more productive. Like preparing for my inevitable success in Hollywood, where I intend to move once I’ve dropped outta high school,” Cas deflects with his usual sarcastic wit. Crowley chortles and goes to dig through his bag.

Evading subjects and masking serious remarks with humor has become something of a coping mechanism. So much so, that sometimes Cas himself doesn’t know when he’s purely kidding. Like now, when he’s absolutely not intending to move to L.A., but does to some extent feel like he’s being put through the wringer unnecessarily.

Once, not that long ago, he had a very nice report card, excellent recommendations and free pickings to apply to whatever college he wanted. Over the past year however, Castiel has felt like his reality is slowly crumbling down around him. 

It’s hard to define how it began, but he can distinguish his gradual shift into inadequacy, how he moved from certainty and ease into a constant struggle to overcome barriers. Nowadays there seems to be something stopping him from doing things, taking on a task and giving it his attention.

Nothing that is being asked of him is beyond his capabilities. Castiel knows this, and he’s offended every time there’s insinuation to the contrary. Instead the roots of the problem seem to lie with demands and expectations, and the gut reaction not to heed those, which always becomes his first roadblock. He can’t explain or rationalize it, but once something has met a block like that, approaching it is like willing himself to burn his palms on a hot stove.

And it’s not just school stuff either, it’s everything. At the end of junior year, when Cas started to allow himself more self expression through music, style and opinions, he was met not with acceptance, but a wall of prejudice, disappointment and disapproval.

The whole Satanic Panic at his mother’s church was one thing. He can laugh at the belief that dressing in black and listening to heavier music puts him in cahoots with Lucifer. He can’t laugh at the notion that he’s fallen in with the wrong crowd, or that he’s becoming a depressed outcast because of who he chooses to be. 

It hurts Castiel to the core, when displaying something that is truly him results in it being called a phase that he should outgrow, that being like that made him less developed. That hurt never heals, instead it only festers. He continues to resolutely stay true to himself, “rebel” as his parents call it, and therefore finds that defiance has become his default setting. He can no longer tell apart if a demand is for his own good or not-- any and all pressure results in an immediate need to revolt.

Inadvertently his fight for self expression has turned into a constant defiance of authority, and persistent anxiousness over not being enough. And now his grades have started to drop, his report cards becoming the evidence that he, in fact, can't get it together and isn't enough. Thanks to all this, the prospect of college has become increasingly alien. It’s just another thing that everyone expects of him, while Castiel himself is less and less convinced he should attempt it-- or that he could even do it if he tried.

The classroom chatter around him dies as Mrs. Moseley enters, her aura of effortless authority never failing to command everyone’s attention. She greets the class and turns her astute eyes to Cas. Something flashes through them, worry perhaps, and she nods, granting Castiel his much needed reprieve. He nearly sobs in relief as he opens his notebook, and glides off into the sweet haven of escapism.

_Dean grabbed Castiel’s shoulder and spun him back around. His eyes were desperate and pleading._ _  
_ _“You were gonna help me once, weren't you? You were gonna warn me about all this, before they dragged you back to Bible camp. Help me -- now. Please.”_ _  
__Castiel scanned the ornate room, knowing that ears weren’t visible but still very much present. “What would you have me do?”_

 _“Get me to Sam. We can stop this before it's too late,” Dean said, and took a step towards the angel._ _  
_ _“I do that, we will all be hunted. We'll all be killed,” Castiel replied seriously, willing Dean to understand the gravity of it all. Dean’s green eyes softened by a fraction as he moved even closer._

_“If there is anything worth dying for... this is it,” he said softly, his gaze flicking from Castiel’s eyes to his lips and back._

  
  


\---

Fridays end with a free period followed by History class, both of which Castiel shares with Dean. The day has dragged endlessly, and the anxieties and tiredness from the previous night weigh heavy on his shoulders. By the time the free period finally rolls around, Cas is thoroughly exhausted, and Dean remarks upon as much as he sinks into their couch in the Bunker.

Cas allows his head to flop back against the armrest and stares blankly at the ceiling. “I can’t do this day anymore. Can't it just be over so I could be miserable in peace?” he moans and drapes an arm over his eyes.

Dean regards him in silence for a while and seems to weigh his options. Finally he grabs Cas’ knees and pushes himself up, kneeling to hover above him. Cas groans and peers at him from below the sleeve of his black button down.

“Get up and grab your stupid coat,” Dean commands. “We’re going.”

Cas frowns. “What? Where?”  
  
“The Kelpie,” Dean answers and hops off the couch, grinning widely. “We can discuss the next script. Also, I’ve got something to show you.”

Dean is already pulling on his jacket and exiting the Bunker before Cas finally catches up with the program and hurries after him.

The Kelpie is a suspicious watering hole a block away from the school, located in an old red tiled industrial building. From the outside it appears to be an old English style pub, even the decor matches that image, but in reality it’s more like a small coffee shop. Although the coffee is awful and all they sell is stale sweet loaves and very basic sandwiches. But people don't frequent The Kelpie for it’s menu, but for it’s unique ambience and owner, a guy in his late 20’s named Ash. And for the unadvertised fact that he occasionally pours a beer or a shot of liquor instead of chai, and doesn’t exactly discern between high school kids and other customers.

The Kelpie’s customer base is loyal, and Ash is famously fond of all his regulars. As much is evident when his face lights up as Cas and Dean push through the door. He steps out from behind the counter and greets them with weird, one armed, sleeveless hugs.

“My dudes! What can I do for you gentlemen this lovely afternoon?” he says as he pats their backs, then goes to pick up two mugs from the shelves.

“Have you been outside today, man? It’s raining ice and the winds are punishing,” Dean shudders.

“Ha, you got me there,” Ash laughs and lights a joint-- another habit that goes kindly unmentioned. “Slept in the back last night and haven’t felt like going out since. Why would I?” He takes a long drag. “Got my living room, kitchen, TV and everything right here.”

Dean shakes his head and laughs. “Hey, you got some of that stronger coffee, with a little extra kick? Castiel here isn’t feeling too preppy today, and I could use a little pick me up myself,” he asks with a wink, and Cas swears it makes Ash blush a little.

“Yeah, yeah, sure thing, my man,” Ash nods. “Take a seat and I’ll bring yours right over.”

“Thanks, Ash,” Cas mumbles and smiles as he moves towards their regular booth in the corner. Dean slides onto the bench next to him and pulls out his sketchbook. He sets it down on the table in front of them and rapps it’s cover with his fingertips.

“So… You wanna see what I’ve got so far?” he asks with an enthusiastic glimmer in his eyes. Cas feels excitement begin to bubble in his stomach, and the first genuine smile of the day reaches his eyes. He nods, biting his lower lip, and catches Dean’s eyes as they flicker to his mouth and back up again.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean breaths and clears his throat.

He opens the sketchbook and leafs through the first couple of pages. They’re all filled with character sketches, drawn in Dean’s detailed style that carries a unique balance between realism and caricature. It’s not as gritty as the drawings in the Miller comics he so dearly loves, but it’s dramatic enough to pack a punch. 

Some of the character sketches have been inked since the last time Cas saw them, and he once again marvels at Dean’s ability to work with both pencil and inks. He’s not a half bad storyteller either, and for a while he was set on following in Miller’s footsteps-- creating his comics alone from script to ink-- but apparently it proved to be a lot more work than anticipated. 

Not that Cas would ever say that out loud. Dean would point out that Miller used colorists, sometimes pencillers and other artists, and really maybe Dean wanted to compare himself more to O’Barr initially. More stylistic and indie, entirely self made. But since balancing between writing and drawing was out of his comfort zone, he’s more than fine becoming Lloyd to Castiel’s Moore. Also shut up Cas.

Dean turns a few more pages and lands on an almost empty spread, only reading “PART 1” in huge blocky letters. He rests his hand on the book.

“So...I got kind of carried away and finished page sketches for the first script.”

“What!?” Cas splutters. “Dean, that thing was insanely long!”

It had only taken Castiel a week to organize his early stories into a script, but it still covered a lot of ground. Although the amount of text had been reduced from his original format, the task of imagining it in pictures seemed enormous to him.

“Yeah,” Dean says and rubs his neck. “But the story just caught me, you know? I’ve worked on it a lot over the last three weeks. It’s not detailed or anything, just a rough walk through.”

“Uh huh,” Cas lets out a breathy laugh. “If you don’t show me already, I will claw my way through you.” He makes a grab for the book, which Dean smoothly moves out of his reach. 

“Calm down, I’ll show you. No need to get handsy,” Dean laughs and wriggles his eyebrows lewdly. “Unless you think you can handle me.”

Castiel’s witty retort dies in his mouth and thank god for Ash, who chooses that moment to bring over their drinks. He sets down two huge mugs of coffee, but rather than giving off an aroma of dark roast beans, they smell distinctly of bourbon.

“You guys, don’t rush through these bad boys. Yours truly might’ve been a little generous with the syrup, if you know what I mean,” says Ash seriously and taps the side of his nose. Dean and Cas accept their drinks with thanks, and proceed to take unnecessarily large sips, which sends them into fits of choughs. 

“The suspense is killing me, Dean, maybe even worse than this coffee,” Cas gags. “Stop teasing, please.”

“Sure, Cas,” Dean smiles, slides the book back in front of them and opens up the first page drafts, four of them fitted on one spread. “Let’s start at the beginning, the flashback to 22 years ago…”

\---

Two hours fly by unnoticed. They went through all of Dean’s page drafts, and Cas couldn’t get enough of the feeling of _seeing_ his words. It was uncanny how accurately Dean was able to portray his story, seeming to know exactly how he felt it should flow. It wasn’t just that he’d followed the descriptions Cas gave. It was that he also read everything Cas didn’t put down into words. He just _got it._

That being said Cas did end up making a bunch of notes in blue pencil here and there, just to appear more constructive instead of a blubbering fanboy. Dean seemed pleased at that, but especially at Cas’ enthusiasm. 

Once they had reviewed the existing work, their discussions turned towards the next plots and new characters. Cas had planned a plot where the brothers and their father end up in a car crash, and Dean is quickly convincing him to kill off the dad for dramatic purposes. This has Castiel all riled up and the notes are flying off his pen with vigor. The hand is messy and the sequence of the notes makes no sense. He’ll have an interesting time deciphering these notes later, but he can’t slow down. Their animated discussion and Ash’ careless dosage of bourbon has him buzzing.

No, wait, that’s his cellphone.

 **Hannah >> **Where are you two? Me and the others are ready to head over to Crowley’s.

“Aw, shit. Dean, we have to go,” Cas sighs with a pang of disappointment. He had all but forgotten this wasn’t what they were supposed to be doing for the rest of the night.

“That late already?” Dean wonders and checks the time on his phone, sounding equally as enthusiastic. “Well, we better get going then. Can’t let the good folks down. Or Crowley.”

Cas huffs a laugh, and shoots Hannah a quick reply telling the others to go on ahead. They’d meet up with everyone at Crowley’s. He finishes cramming his notebooks back into his backpack and stands up. Dean moves to step aside and let Cas out of the booth, but stops him before he can make for the front door. His hand rests on Castiel’s forearm.

“You realize how awesome this is, right?” Dean says and gestures between them. “I don’t think I could have this connection with anyone else, and I can’t imagine working on someone else’s stories.”

Cas feels his cheeks heat up, and he can’t help but simper as his eyes lock with Dean’s. “Yeah, well. You’ve always had an enormous ego,” he deadpans. “Who else would be so smitten by a story about themselves?” 

Dean aims a jab at his ribs and Cas dodges, lunging towards the door. “Hey! You know that’s unfair. And you’re supposed to reciprocate!” Dean laughs as he stumbles over to Ash’ bar. The guy is locked in conversation with another patron, so he just throws a couple of bills on the counter and they wave their goodbyes. Cas drapes and arm around Dean’s shoulders as they exit.

“I do too, you know, like you and your drawings best,” he says after a while.

“I know.”

\---

Crowley’s is a concept. It’s _a thing_ , and not just for Cas and his clan. A lot of folks tend to come and go at their leisure, and Crowley really doesn’t give a flipping shite if they do. The Brit lives in an old neighborhood a little further down the Plough River, where old detached houses stand mixed together with rows of townhouses from various decades, perhaps even centuries. Crowley’s place is situated in a side alley, off the main roads, squeezed between two considerably less run down townhouses.

His parents are apparently some big city hot shots. They bought the house cheap and moved back to Seattle some time ago, leaving Crowley to live out his best life at Duke John’s. And Crowley seems a-okay with that. Smart as he is, the guy appears to manage school with minimum effort, and instead focuses on perfecting his moonshine recipe. From his dubious headquarters, he deals the stuff out to his friends, friends of friends, and basically anyone he decides is unlikely to rat him out to the police.

By the time Cas and Dean arrive, a small party has already gathered. Random people loiter around the front porch and music blasts through the door as it swings open. Inside they find Crowley in his kitchen, busy dispensing moonshine from the stash in his walk-in storage. Straight away Dean starts rummaging through his fridge and cupboards for ingredients and clean dishes. A few minutes later they join the others in the cramped living room, carrying a pitcher of disgusting punch and mugs.

Kevin, Gabe, Charlie and Jo are all spread out on the small couch in a tangle of limbs, while Hannah perches on the armrest slightly awkwardly. She sags in relief as Cas enters, and gives him a sideways hug from where she’s sitting.

Dean strides straight over to Crowley’s computer, and in signature Winchester move, begins to rearrange the playlist immediately, loudly declaring it an affront to humanity’s capabilities to create meaningful music. Next thing Warrant’s Cherry Pie blasts through the speakers and Dean joins them, grinning proudly. Jo swats him over the head as he sits down on the armrest opposite Cas. Dean pushes a full mug of their punch in Cas’ hand, and winks as he proceeds to down half of his own with alarming speed.

Cas sniffs at the sickly red liquid. It smells like cranberry juice, artificial flavor and bad ideas. The moonshine is sharp enough that it’s odor stings in his nostrils. Matching Dean’s speed would be a really shitty idea, Cas muses. The booze is strong and he isn’t an experienced drinker.

But Cas is already buzzed and weirdly detached from the anxieties that have haunted him since last night. He doesn’t feel anything as Hannah drapes her arm around his waist, and he feels everything as he observes Dean’s playful exchanges with the others.

The music and chatter engulf him, and he lets himself drift further away. If there’s a party, then party he shall, Cas thinks, and downs his first cup in two very deliberate swigs. 

“Are you crazy?” A shocked voice rings from somewhere.

“Yeah, probably,” Cas coughs and laughs, before forgetting himself for the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you'll come back for the future chapters. :)
> 
> As a little extra, here are (some of the) real life parallels in this chapter:
> 
> \- Me and my friend got told off by a youth worker at our congregation once for dressing up in Hogwarts attire. It was all the rage back then- we were really active in the HP Fandom. I have to say, being accused of satanism for dressing up in a cape was a big nudge towards me adopting my current style and ultimately parting ways with the church. And no, I'm not "a satanist" :,)
> 
> \- When I was in high school, me and my friend / same sex crush at the time started a project together. It wasn't a comic, but it did include worldbuilding, writing and concept art as well. We finished the project that same year, in 2005. We produced sequels, altogether counting 5 by 2015. This project lead to my current career.
> 
> \- The Kelpie was an actual bar, of course named differently in my native language, close to our high school. They were a little tardy when it came to minding legal drinking limits. We spent a lot of time there in stead of our classes, naturally.
> 
> \- Crowley's is based on a real thing. It was the home of a friend and his siblings, and it was used pretty much as described in this fic. Our friend is no Crowley, but let's say he had a certain nonchalance to his ways that fit the character. 
> 
> **Songs in this chapter:**  
> [The Rasmus - In The Shadows](https://youtu.be/_ao2u7F_Qzg)
> 
> I post aesthetics and updates on [ Tulmblr ](https://ceraphyn.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [ **Full author's playlist on Spotify**](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5lrvqMU5FBWecDyoHgU7tD?si=iL44qHT4TVmHPV5O8nDF9A)


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